What Was Given, Remains
At the second level of Angkor Wat, where the towers rise above the inner sanctuary, some carvings were never finished. The sandstone wall is bare—smooth where ornament should have bloomed. But from this silence, two devatas emerged.
They are nearly identical. Each lifts a lotus blossom. One reaches across to rest her hand upon the other’s shoulder. It is a gesture without beginning or end. They do not turn. They do not shine. They remain.
Held by the Light They Offered was made as the sun began to withdraw—its final warmth brushed across the stone like benediction. Using large-format black-and-white film, I composed the image not as a document, but as an act of devotion. In the studio, I shaped the sculptural relief through chiaroscuro, and hand-toned each print in gold—not for ornament, but for return.
These devatas were not simply lit.
They were lit from within.
No two impressions are the same. Each carries its own breath, its own hush. The gold remembers what the light gave.
This museum-grade archival pigment print is rendered on Hahnemühle Bamboo paper and offered in a strictly limited edition of 25 + 2 Artist’s Proofs. Each is signed and numbered by the artist.
They do not reflect the sun.
They remember it.
The Collector’s Package includes a Certificate of Authenticity, a printed facsimile of the original field-made Chalk Study, and a suite of poetic companion texts.
To live with this work is not to possess an image.
It is to enter a moment that never stopped offering itself.
Also in Library
Stone That Remembers the Sky
This poem listens to Angkor not as ruin, but as grammar—where moss, shadow, and proportion carry devotion forward without spectacle. What endures here is not glory, but measure: a way of standing that no longer needs witnesses.
Rice-Ghost and the Seven Drums
At harvest, the danger is not hunger but forgetting how to listen.
This folklore retelling speaks of drums struck for silence, of grain taken without gratitude, and of a narrow figure who does not punish—only waits. A tale of pacts made not with spirits, but with attention itself.
Naga Vow
A lost city sleeps in the jungle, its thresholds carved with serpents — not ornament, but law. This vow-poem enters love as sacred hunger: desire as guardianship, devotion as possession, the body speaking without language. A liturgy of heat, roots, rain, and the terrible tenderness of being claimed.
$250
Angkor Wat Temple, Angkor, Cambodia — 2020
Limited Edition Archival Pigment Print
Edition
Strictly limited to 25 prints + 2 Artist’s Proofs
Medium
Hand-toned black-and-white archival pigment print on Hahnemühle Bamboo — a museum-grade fine art paper chosen for its quiet tactility and reverent depth, echoing the spirit of the temples.
Signature & Numbering
Each print is individually signed and numbered by the artist on the border (recto)
Certificate of Authenticity
Accompanies every print
Image Size
9.5 x 6.8 inches (24.1 x 17.3 cm)
At the threshold where light becomes memory, two devatas emerge from stone—graceful, entwined, and radiant in their stillness. This is not a moment captured, but one consecrated.
Carved high upon the unfinished sandstone of Angkor Wat’s second-level courtyard, the figures appear almost identical—twin sisters or mirrored selves—each lifting a lotus blossom in quiet offering. One reaches across to rest her hand upon the other’s shoulder, their embrace suspended in golden silence. The air was thick with the hush of evening, as if the day itself were bowing.
Lucas Varro waited for the light to find them. Using large-format black-and-white film, he made this image beneath the sun’s last breath. In the studio, the negative was shaped through chiaroscuro and hand-toned in gold—an act of reverence, not effect. Each print is unique, bearing the subtle fire of what the stone once held.
This museum-grade archival pigment print on Hahnemühle Bamboo paper is offered in a strictly Limited Edition of 25 + 2 AP.
No two impressions are alike. Each carries the light that stayed.
Click here to walk deeper into the artist’s journal—where silence remembers the offering.
